Participants:
| Scene Title | Pardon Who? |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | He's not a bad kid, really. Just misunderstood. Len asks Tracy for a favor. |
| Date | June 2, 2009 |
Random Chinese Restaurant
It's been a better day than yesterday, to say the least. She hasn't seen the DHS guy yet, and she's unsure if he's even there - but knwoing Matt Parkman, he is. That's just fine with her - he's in trouble if she sees the tail. On her way home, instead of going out for drinks, Tracy decides to slum it - chinese food. There's a little chinese take out place between her office and her home that have he number registered. Tracy may be a busy woman and social butterfly, but she's also a single woman. Walking in, she smiles to Cho behind the counter, setting her purse beside her and peering over a menu. The tail is out there…somewhere…
Dinner time and Len is out as well. He hasn't exactly decided on where to go, but then a call comes through to him. Tracy Strauss has been seen going into one of the local chinese places. That's not too far from where he is, so he makes his way there as well. Of course, it's probably not too often someone his size and decor finds his way inside an establishment like this. He dips his head to the man behind the counter as he walks up and stands next to Ms. Strauss. "Evening, m'am." he says as he glances up at the menu as well. He picks up a menu. "Eat here often?"
"Try the soup, and it's none of your business." Tracy's rather used to being picked up by strangers, and she says it all with a very polite smile. "Sorry, you could either be curious about it or trying to hit on me…I just cover both my bases as easily as I can. Hey Cho…" She turns then, proceeding to order a large Hot and Sour soup with extra crunchy noodles.
"Actually, I'm neither. Not saying I wouldn't at some point tried to hit on you." He slips over his card that identifies him as an employee of Primatech. Either she knows what this is, or she doesn't. If she does, good. If not, he'll have to add his HomeSec badge to the mix as well, but prefers to do this somewhere less distreet. "Seems we have a few things that need to be discussed, if you wouldn't mind allowing me to join you for your meal. I won't take much time." Len adds to Cho. "And I will have the soup. Thanks."
Tracy does not seem inclined to take the card for a second, but she does glance at it, and sees the name of Primatech. Parkman briefed her on Primatech, and so she reaches across her body, taking it between her fingers and giving it a look and a twirl, eyes taking in the man for a moment. "OKay." She finally agrees, nudging her head toward a nearby table. "Have a seat. Usually takes Cho a few minutes with the soup."
Sliding himself into one side of the booth, he settles back against the cushioned seat and grins over at her. He pulls a photo from the his shirt pocket and slides it across the table. "You've have contact with this young man?" Magnes J. Varlane is the person in the photo. He voices it as a question, though it doesn't seem to come across as one. Len doesn't bother taking off his hat — he rarely does in public, unless he's in a church, of course. Mama would tan his hide, even in his late thirties.
Tracy leans forward, glancing at the photo. A lifetime in politics has given her the uncanny ability to twist the truth. Perhaps he wasn't pardoned after all as much as he says. "Why do you ask? He looks rather young for my taste." Hell, he is rather young for her taste. But she did taste.
"I wasn't suggesting anything inappropriate, m'am." The cowboy starts. "He's come to work for us. We think his particular talents could be useful for the country However, he's been put on the terrorist list. We're going through proper channels to get him removed. He seems to be a little — inventive with his time, so I wanted to be sure he wasn't being a bother — first of all. Second, I'd prefer any assistance from your office with getting him removed from that list."
Tracy could be drooling right now. What he's asking her to do is…difficult. But the information flows it's about to open up are like smooth dark chocolate to her. "That's a rather tall order." She says, sitting back as two brown paper bags are delivered, for them to take in or eat out. "And a very difficult one, considering this boy's mentor has been connected with teh terrorist Sylar."
Len considers her words for a moment. Then he grins. "Ms. Strauss. This young man is now employed under my care. He's a little rough around the edges, I will say that. He's a little gung ho. And he's no longer under the guidance of anyone except someone else in my employ. We are working with him to help he gain better control of his ability and having every law enforcement agency in the world looking for him — is going to make my task of grooming him a very difficult one."
Oh sweet, sweet necter that is a baraining chip. "What you're essentially asking me, then, is to make Hiro Nakamura's protege dissapear from a terrorist watch list. And you want me to do this…just like that. You have to realize, Mister…." She checks his card again. "…Denton, you're not giving me a leg to stand on."
Len's reply is simply, "I could just cut him loose and see what city he decides to inadvertently destroy next."
"So you admit that he's guilty." She says, cocking her head to the side curiously and letting her hands rest on the table. "And with that admission you're asking me to secure the Exectutive Branch of the government behind making his warrents dissapear? How exactly do you expect me to do that? And why would I, if he is guilty?"
"The way I understood what went down, he was a victim of circumstance. Circumstance that has a name. A name I'm not certain I should be uttering in a nice public establishment like this. The boy barely knows what he's doing, we can help him." Len takes the photo and tucks it back into his pocket. "We're going to use him regardless of what you do. The issue I have is that he's not going to be very effective for this nation as a fugitive. And honestly, it's not like there isn't a precedence for this sort of thing. If he doesn't come off, then we have to jail him, and then he has no incentive to get a grip on his ability."
"And how exactly am I supposed to protect myself and the President's office from this sort of fiasco? Does he get a pardon, for what? For being a kid? In 2002 we put a teenager and his step-father in prison for riding around the East coast in a white van, shooting at people. What makes Magnes Varlane any different? If Hiro Nakamura is as guilty as your people say he is, just circumstances alone are going to ruin this kid. I don't like it, but unless you give me something to protect the government from the shitstorm this could raise, I can't help you."
Running his tongue between his lip and gum as he considers her question for a moment, Len glances over as a couple walk past their booth. Once they've moved on by, he turns his dark eyes to hers. "I'm no fool, Ms. Strauss. This can be done quietly - I just need a letter of pardon to place in his record. And I'll take care of the rest. The rest of the world can continue to keep an eye out for him, as I have no intention of using him outside of our country." That grin widens as he then adds. "Then of course, I'll owe you one. Isn't that how it goes in politics?"
She leans forward as well, her eyes icy and cool against his gaze. "And what happens when an underpaid secretary comes across that little pardon and leaks it out to the media? How am I supposed to protect my people then? I'm willing to help, but you have to provide me with a way."
Len grins as she leans towards him, meeting him across the table. "I think it should be as simple as creating a nice little cover story. Mistaken identity. Sometimes along those lines should do. Nakamura is already a wanted criminal, so I see no reason why we can't just add this to the list of his crimes. Whatever it takes. Hell, Presidents of the past have pardoned criminals with no explanation whatsoever. In a month, Mr. Magnes name will not even cross the lips of the public. He'll be easily forgotten. Everyone these days has a nice case of short term memory. By the time the next season of American Idol rolls around, they'll have something else to talk about."
Tracy reaches over, easily picking up her bag of soup. "I'll see what I can do." She answers, cryptically as she appears to be heading for hte door.
Calling out to her. "You have my number." Len grins and waits for her to leave, and decides to go ahead and eat his soup before he heads back to the office for some late night work — plus it's where his big screen TV is and there's a game on tonight.